


Spellbound

by AkkiTheWolf



Series: Star-drops [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Confused Dean Winchester, Evil Plot Bunny, F/M, High Priestess - Freeform, Kinda, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No witches in this work, Old religions, Soulmates, Stubborn Winchesters (Supernatural), Swearing, takes place around 3rd and 4th season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkkiTheWolf/pseuds/AkkiTheWolf
Summary: Dean knew something was different. And not only the whole coming-back-from-dead-being raised-by-angel-from-perdition thing. There was a gnawing pit in him. Like something was scooped out and the edges of the empty space were all raw and frayed, firing up confused signals of pain, longing and deep sorrow into his brain. Not even the angel knew what was wrong, according to him Dean was as healthy as a brand new baby.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Star-drops [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514813
Kudos: 2





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> This is just me playing with the soulmates trope. I wanted to see if I could give it my own brand of magic so to speak.
> 
> On another note....
> 
> I didn´t know if I should address what is hapening, but staying silent is worse.  
> The world is a mess right now, but I guess it was like this for a long time. We just decided not to see it.  
> I hope you are all safe, because that´s what people deserve. No matter their colour, religion or sexuality.  
> I hope the world will open its eyes and see that there is much to learn and much to change.  
> For those who read this, I hope that these words and the stories I write make you smile and bring you at least a smidge of happiness.  
> Thank you.  
> Akki out.
> 
> #BlackLivesMatter

The next stop for Sam and Dean was the Roadhouse. They were tired, aching and quite frankly, Dean needed to see other people than his brother. Also, it´s been quite some time since they saw Ellen and Jo. It might very well be the last time, Dean thought grimly. He stopped baby in front of the grungy looking building. The AC-DC song died in the middle of the verse when he turned off the engine.

"Come on, Sammy." He slapped his sleeping brother´s shoulder, the younger Winchester startling awake and cursing his brother. Dean chuckled and satisfied, made his way to the roadhouse.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Said Ellen, laying her eyes on the two young hunters, smile wide and warm.

"Hey, Ellen." Dean sat at one of the bar stools, perching on the edge, one knee bent.

"Where's Jo." Sam echoed his thoughts. 

"Probably in the back. What can I get you, boys?" Dean automatically went for whiskey. Sam frowned and took a beer from Ellen. At her arched eyebrow he shook his head, not now.

Dean managed to drink two shots when Jo came out of the back, chattering happily to someone behind her. Dean looked at the newcomer, sliding his gaze to Jo when he did a double-take. The girl looked like a witch. Not the movie rendition, with big nose and warty face. There was something raw about her, primordial, Dean couldn't put a name to it. But his heart skipped a beat when her eyes landed on him. And not from fear.

He couldn't tell their colour and not because she was too far. Her eyes were almost like glass beads, reflecting colours from gold to green to amber orange. Dean felt enchanted, he wondered when did she managed to put a curse on him.

Their eye contact was broken when Sam aimed a gun on her, Dean following dazedly after a second. She had to do something to him, right? It wasn´t normal to feel like this after only one look at a person.

"Ellen," Sam voiced hesitantly.

"Don't shoot!" She barked, exasperation and pleading in her voice. Jo stood frozen, not sure what to do. The young woman moved around her and to the staff-side of the bar.

"Not a witch." She snapped Dean´s way. He looked at her, confused, only now noticing the rest of her features. The strange, white hair, lean braids carefully woven into an intricate style, sitting upon her head like a crown. The white flowing clothes with a red sash bound around her middle and the tattoos climbing both arms, a writing in runes perhaps or some language he didn´t recognize. It all screamed witch to him. Or hippie. She huffed as if reading his mind. His eyes widened, could she? She smirked at him, puttering around the bar. Dean squinted at her suspiciously.

"Not a witch, hunter. I´m a priestess. So settle down. And no, I can't read minds." He threw his hands into the air.

"That just proves my point! How did you know?"

"You are laughably easy to read." She deadpanned, hopping onto the counter, holding a steaming mug of something.

"What priestess?" Sam was of course curious, eyes big and eager. There was also that thing with certain gods and their penchant for certain sacrifices...

Dean scowls at her, yet he can't pull his eyes from her. She blows into the mug, thick lashes hiding those intriguing eyes. She lifts her gaze to him, studying him, head slightly tilted.

"Old religion. Probably wouldn't recognize it. No worry, it doesn't require human sacrifice." She answers Sam´s question. Dean can't place her accent. It sounds vaguely Russian, but something is off about it.

"i would like to hear about it, if you have time. Uh, what, what is your name?" She slides down from the bar.

"You can call me Leshy. And if I have time? I don´t know yet. Depends how soon I´ll find what I need." She sets her gaze on Dean again with the last sentence. Dean is watching her leave, mug still cradled between her hands. He sees another tattoo peek from under the white breezy top. Antlers. He wonders how big it is and how far down it goes.

"Don't give up." He didn´t realize she turned around, expression softer than through their whole encounter, voice airy and lilting.

"It would be a shame for you to go like that and so soon." She looked wistfully at him when Dean´s face darkened.

"It was nice meeting you two." She smiled softly, a puzzling countenance flitted over her face, disappearing into the back. And Dean was left to sort through the confusing mess of embarrassed anger and longing that flowed through him.

...

Dean knew something was different. And not only the whole coming-back-from-dead-being raised-by-angel-from-perdition thing. There was a gnawing pit in him. Like something was scooped out and the edges of the empty space were all raw and frayed, firing up confused signals of pain, longing and deep sorrow into his brain. Not even the angel knew what was wrong, according to him Dean was as healthy as a brand new baby. 

He was arguing with Sam, just entering the house when Bobby´s voice made them look up and freeze to a spot. Bobby was standing in the middle of the room, disapproving expression on his face. He turned slightly and the hunters looked around and behind him. There, on a couch, daintily sat a witch. Not a witch, priestess, Dean´s brain supplied (un)helpfully. Legs crossed, all in white except for a string of red beads tied around her waist and let to hang from her right side, sipping from a mug, steam was rising up from it. Was it coffee or tea?

What Dean with a startle noticed, was the hole inside his chest, that cold aching feeling, was lessening, disappearing. He bristled slightly, what was with this woman that always messed him up?

"Don't fight it, Dean. It will only make it worse. Hello, Sam." She said in a soft voice, perfectly still, her eyes slightly wary.

"Can someone, please, tell me what a fucking hell is a High Priestess doing in my house?!" Bobby bellowed, making them all hunch into themselves like scolded children.

"Leshy, what are you doing here?" Sam asked since no one else seemed to want to talk first.

"This idiot is being difficult." She points her chin towards Dean. He looks affronted, scowling and then giving his brother a flabbergasted look at Sam´s pointed stare.

"How am I supposed to know what she's talking about?" He growls and she has the gal to smirk at him.

"I don't care, get her out of here." Bobby gripes and she huffs, annoyed.

"Come on, hippie-chick. Time for you to leave and gather flowers or whatever." She glared at him.

"I'll go. After we speak." Her back straightened, her eyes had a steely glow in them. Dean glowered at her, aura thunderous. He himself didn´t understand what made him so angry. She didn´t relent, so Sam and Bobby left to give them privacy.

And it´s like a balloon has been deflated. Her whole body sags, face twists into something vulnerable and eyes go misty with tears.

"Duša moja, stop fighting!" She begs. Dean is so confused he can't utter a sound. Something painful twinges inside his chest.

"Why are you here?" He wasn't going to back down, stubborn as he was. She looked disappointed, expecting something of him, he didn´t know what.

"What do you feel, Dean?" He scowled more.

"Just answer, please. Right now, what do you feel?" He saw the white-knuckled grip she had on the mug. He let out a sigh.

"Cold. I feel cold and restless." He wasn't going to admit to anything more. She nodded to herself, setting the mug down on the ground next to the couch.

She stood and moved carefully towards Dean, so as not to spook him. She stopped before him and rested one palm on his sternum, humming softly when Dean tensed.

"What do you feel now?" She looked up, eyes like jewels and Dean´s breath hitched. Warmth started spreading from the place where her hand touched his chest.

"What did you do?" He growled, taking a step back. The warmth leaving with her touch.

"Just accepted the inevitable." She looked sad.

"And what's that?" He itched to get closer. It was like nothing he ever felt. Lust, desire he could deal with. Loneliness was an everyday occurrence when he hunted, before Sammy came back. Longing was entirely new and it irritated him how off-kilter it made him. Not able to think past her presence in front of him.

"Can you fucking explain to me what's happening?!" He was getting very close to screaming. Frustration bubbling inside him like a pot sitting on a too high flame.

She huffed, annoyed at his pigheadedness and stalked close again. She grabbed him behind his ears, pulling him down. Dean smelled raspberry tea a moment before their lips met. It wasn't a particularly long or deep kiss. It was chaste and gentle, tasting sweet and Dean´s soul was singing with it. A sound escaped him, a moan or a sob he couldn´t tell. 

But this kiss was all he ever wanted and all he ever could want for. His hands hugged her tightly to him and Dean was lamenting when she ended the kiss with a sigh.

"What? How?" He wasn't very articulate in that moment, but it got the point across.

"Souls may have been the Christian God´s invention, but the bond, the closeness you feel right now, was a gift from my bosses." Dean kept sub-consciously running his hands up and down her back, reveling in the tingling feeling the simple touch gave him.

"What, like soulmates?" He scoffed.

"You still deny it, despite feeling it in your soul, the belonging. Like finding something you have lost long ago." She nuzzled his collarbone while saying this, sending delicious shudders down Dean´s spine.

"What now?" She left the circle of his arms and Dean suddenly felt bereft. 

This could be a problem, he thought, some of that irritation coming back. It was in his nature, to fight tooth and nail against the grand design.

"What you always do. You hunt, you help the helpless and save the day. The intensity of the feeling should, well, not fade, but you should get used to it with time. And I will be close, don´t worry." She smirked playfully. Dean arched an eyebrow, obviously not impressed.

"And what if I don't want any of this?" He waved at the space between them and even as he spoke that thought filled him with quiet panic.

"You could reject it, me. But it would just make us both miserable. Soul-bonds are called bonds for a reason. We are tied together, our souls are. I would ask you not to fight it. I already did several times, I guess. But it is your decision. Free will and all that." She answered, subdued and looking slightly fearful, as if preparing for the imminent pain Dean was going to put her through.

“Can we break it?” And here was that pain, she felt her chest freeze, a ball of ice sitting where her heart fluttered just a moment ago.

“I assume so,” she had to swallow past the lump in her throat, “everything can be broken.” Dean saw the agony flick across her face, he felt it, squeezing his organs like iron fist.

“Good to know.” He was unsure, needing to reach out yet his stubbornness and general paranoia prevented him from doing so and it manifested in twitching limbs and frowned brows. Careful hope glinted in those strange eyes that Dean realized, he was dreaming about for months now. He didn´t feel like a wild horse, ready to bolt at the slightest chance, once he knew there was an opening. A back door he could take if things go sideways. And they always do. He stomped to Bobby's table, reaching over it for a glass and a bottle of cheap whiskey, putting some distance between them. Just to prove he can. He throws back the three fingers he poured into the glass. 

“I should go, I already overstayed my welcome.” Fingertips touch his elbow carefully. Dean turns his head slightly, acknowledging that she spoke to him. She sighs wistfully and Dean hears her voice move towards the front door.

“I left my contact information with Bobby,” she hesitates, hand on the door jamb,”if you feel like stopping being a stubborn old coot.” Dean whirls around at this, outraged and manages to catch a sight of red beads and tinkling laughter before the door close and plunge the house into silence. 

“What the fuck have you boys gotten into this time?” Bobby grumbles from the kitchen. Sam opens his mouth as if to say something, but comes up with nothing so just heaves an exasperated sigh. Lots of sighing around him today, Dean thought. 

“No fucking idea.” He keeps looking at the closed door for a long time after that.


End file.
